ARIEL: What up Cinderella, have you been working out?
CINDERELLA: Uh-huh, I’m doing that PX-90 workout. It’s awesome, but I have to stop since I pulled my hammy yesterday and now I’m totally gonna gain it all back.
So yeah, apparently Merida wasn’t sexpotty enough (hmmm, sexpotty. I wonder if Kohler makes one of those), so they’ve brought her from like a four up to like an eight. Let’s face it, Merida, you’ll never be a Jasmine.
But it’s shit like this that’s making my daughter want the dentist she sees for ten minutes a year to look like a princess.
So you’re probably wondering what I did. Well, first I explained to her that it doesn’t matter what your dentist looks like, or anyone for that matter, while she looked at me like I was INSANE IN THE BRAIN. So you know what I did? I called the ugliest dentist I could find. Not. Sadly I pictured her going to the dentist for the first time and FREAKING THE SHIT OUT and digging her claws into me as I pinned her down to the chair as the homely dentist held her mouth open with a vice grip or some shit like that. Fine, whatever, let’s make this trip as easy as possible. So I called the only pretty female dentist I could find in the area. Guess who’s going on maternity leave and not coming back.
So I did what any sane mother would do. I found the one who looked most like a prince. Why hello, Dr. Hotty Hot Pants. Holy crap, talk about irony—her dentist is total eye candy. So as he examined Zoey, I examined his face, and his ass, and his biceps. And I prayed he’d come over after and examine my mouth. With his tongue. You know, because looks don’t matter.
Disney movies are all about our kids’ fantasies coming true, right? Toys coming to life, girls becoming princesses, animals talking, parents dying. WTF?
5 little monkeys jumping on the bed
One fell off and bumped his head
Mama called the doctor and the doctor said
No more monkeys jumping on the bed.
4 little monkeys jumping on the bed
One fell off and bumped his head
Mama gave him an eye-roll and said, “See?”
No more monkeys jumping on the bed.
3 little monkeys jumping on the bed
One fell off and bumped his head
Mama used restraint and spoke through gritted teeth, “Do it again and I’m taking away all of your bananas and you’re getting a time out.”
No more monkeys jumping on the bed.
2 little monkeys jumping on the bed
One fell off and bumped his head
Mama finally lost it and went ballistic on his ass. “WTF are you doing? Do you not F’ing listen to any of the shit I say? What part of do not jump on the bed do you not F’ing understand?!
No more goddamn monkeys jumping on the bed!!!!”
1 little monkey jumping on the bed
He fell off and bumped his head
Mama took one look at him and said, “Serves you right, kiss your own F’ing boo-boo. Mama needs some wine. Is it four o’clock yet? WTH, it is somewhere.”
ME: If you see a gun, you get away and go find a grownup.
ZOEY: Or a knight.
ME: Yes, by all means. If you are in the 1600s, go find a knight.
Someday my gay prince will come
Holy crap, have you ever been to a Disney on Ice show? Me neither. Wait, no, that’s a total lie. I was just too embarrassed to admit it. It’s basically hell on earth only it’s really cold.
DUMBASS ME: Heyyyy, I’ll bet Zoey would LOVE Disney on Ice. I’m going to spend 9 million dollars and buy some tickets.
SHIT FOR BRAINS HUBBY: Great idea, but aren’t there any cheap seats?
DUMBASS ME: Those are the cheap seats.
So I bought the tickets and was so excited I told Zoey about it right away.
DUMBASS ME: Guess where we’re going?!
ZOEY: Where?!
DUMBASS ME: Disney on Ice!
ZOEY: Yippppppeeeeee! I’m going to get my shoes on!
Whoopsies.
DUMBASS ME: Uhhh, it’s not ’til Feburary.
Are we going today? Are we going today? Are we going today? Are we going today? Are we going today? Are we going today? Are we going today? Times 180 until 6 months later when it was finally time to go.
Oh my Zoey, you look absolutely amazingly adorable in your gorgeous dress-up gown THAT’S NOT EVEN ONE OF THE F’ING DISNEY PRINCESSES!!! Are you shitting me? I told her she could wear a princess dress and this is the one she chose?! Here are the Disney dresses we own: Snow White, Rapunzel, Belle, Belle, Belle (that’s not a typo, we actually own three Belle dresses), Minnie Mouse, Dorothy, Merida, and Ariel. But she chose to wear some giant ball gown someone sent us that’s sure to take up two seats at the show. And there goes her chance of being picked out of the audience to stand on the stage with the princesses. Not that I really wanted that. But I kinda secretly did. And how the F am I supposed to clean that thing if she gets $12 snow cone on it? I shit you not, I paid $12 for ice.
So anyways, we’re sitting there in the audience when the lights went down and the music started. Now I have a confession to make. A big one. Worse than admitting that I like the Bachelorpad. Worse than admitting that I have hair on my toes. Worse than admitting that sometimes I stand in front of the mirror topless and lift my arms to see what my boobs used to look like.
Okay, here goes. I cry at everything Disney. Yeah yeah yeah, I know that sometimes I paint myself as this heartless, cynical bitch, but really I am the person who tears up on It’s a Small World at DisneyWorld. It’s mortifying. I cry the moment I see Cinderella’s castle. I cry the second I hear Aladdin’s A Whole New World. Hell, I even cry when the pilot announces, “Welcome to Orlando.” So I expected to be a bawling hot mess by the middle of Disney on Ice.
And then the show began. And here’s what was going through my head. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, wait I’m not gonna cry because this is stupid as shit. Umm, these skaters kind of suck ass. I mean I wasn’t expecting Olympics level skating but maybe a little bit. And holy crap, Aladdin just dropped Jasmine on her face! Okay, I’m kind of crying in pain if that counts.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, the grand finale happened. You know how at the end of a July 4th celebration there’s an onslaught of fireworks? Disney on Ice was the same thing, only it was an explosion of princesses. I shit you not. It was like the curtain was projectile-vomiting every Disney princess you can imagine. Cinderella, Snow White, Tiana, Jasmine (with a bandage on her face), Ariel, Aurora, Etcetera (ahhh, wasn’t Etcetera the most beautiful princess of all?).
They were all spinning around the ice with their princes to the song Someday my Prince Will Come, and while usually I would be tearing up right now and blowing my nose into an overused crusty snot rag, I started to have a totally different feeling— holy crap, this is bullshit. Someday my prince will come? Sitting there next to my daughter I wanted to stand up and scream, “Yo, Disney, are you F’ing kidding me?! This is the crap we want to teach our daughters?!!!”
It’s not the fact that I don’t want my daughter to be “rescued” by a man. It’s the fact that she can be rescued or not rescued by whoever the F she chooses. So as I was watching allllllllllll of these princesses with their princes skating around the rink, I was like, “Seriously, Disney, you can’t make one measly little couple gay? Really? You have like 2,000 couples, so would it be such a big deal to hook up two princesses?”
I mean just think of the financial potential some girl-on-girl action could bring. Fathers would rush their families to the theaters to see a little tongue between Jasmine and Belle. Or what about Mulan? A hot Asian lipstick lesbian? Jessica Rabbit would be left in the dust. And you know what would be awesome? I’d like to see Prince Charming sing Someday my Prince Will Come.
Someday my gay prince will come,
Away to the Northeast we’ll run,
Where a power couple we’ll be,
Then adoption will make us three.
Someday when Spring is here,
No one will care if we’re straight or queer,
They’ll all see that our love is so kind,
Whether we do it in the front or behind,
Someday when my dreams come true.
Now that would make me tear up. So you know what, until that shit happens, I ain’t going back to Disney on Ice. Woo-hoo, that should buy me a few years.
Sometimes I let Caillou babysit my kids. How F’ed up is that?
You know what sucks? The fact that sleeping in the “wet spot” isn’t from “doing it” anymore. It’s because someone’s diaper leaked in our bed.
Babies R’n’t Us
Awwww shit, the six-week, post-baby checkup. You know what that means? I have to have sex again. Uhhhh, I mean I get to make magnificent love to my adoring husband. Not that I don’t enjoy sex. It’s just that right now I’m kind of exhausted, breastfeeding, hormonal, in pain down there, want to murder him because he doesn’t have to breastfeed, and did I mention exhausted? I mean I could literally fall asleep crowd-surfing at a Metallica concert, but you want me to waste valuable horizontal sleep time having sex? Besides, do you know what can happen when you have sex? You can get preggers. Been there done that. So anyways, this is what my six-week checkup was like.
OB: So what are you using for birth control?
ME: Our baby.
OB: (blank stare)
ME: Seriously, he’s like constantly laying between us and cockblocking my husband.
OB: What about when your baby’s not there?
ME: (blank stare)
OB: Have you thought about what you might want to use when he does start sleeping in his own room?
ME: I don’t know, isn’t there like some magic pill that I can take that will make me temporarily infertile?
OB: Yes, it’s called the pill.
ME: Nahhh, F that shit. I have to remember to take it like every single day. I’m talking about ONE pill I can take and it’ll make my whole system go kaput for a while.
OB: Yes, it’s called the Kaput pill.
ME: Really?
OB: No, not really. What about a vasectomy?
I’m pretty sure she’s suggesting this because she thinks I shouldn’t breed anymore.
ME: I don’t know, that’s just so final. I mean my husband’s 100% done but I’m only like 98%, so we’ll probably have another. And yes, I know I’m 40 (quit looking at me like that, biatch), but didn’t you see that lady who just had a baby at 62? So I ain’t closing that door yet.
Yada yada yada, we discuss some of my choices, and here’s my take on why a cockblocking baby is a better birth control choice for me than any of the options on the market:
IUD
So all of the sudden I have all these Mommy friends who are using IUDs and at first I was like, “Hmmm, that could be kinda cool,” until I heard them all bitching about the little strings. The WHAT?!!! The little strings. Yeah, apparently these little strings hang out of your cervix and you’re supposed to reach in there and check once in a while to make sure they’re still there. I’m picturing a permanent tampon string in there, only there are two so it’s like you accidentally put a second tampon in because you forgot there was already one in there. Grrr, I hate when that happens. Or maybe they’re more like threads like when the hem of your sleeve has a little thread dangling off it and you try to rip it off but every time you pull it it just gets longer and you finally have to bite that shit off. Only these threads are dangling from your cervix, and I’d constantly want to rip them off so thank God I’m not flexible enough to bend over and bite them off with my teeth. And this is why I can never have an IUD.
Condoms
First of all, condoms cost like $9,000. Not really, but they cost money and I remember when there were like buckets of free ones in college (unless you went to some religiousy college where the teenagers with raging hormones practice abstinence, bwahahahahaha!). But seriously, paying for a condom each time I have sex makes me feel like I’m paying for sex, which is hilarious because these days you pretty much have to pay me to have sex. Hmmm, wait, does that make me a prostitute?
Plus, can we discuss the physical condom itself? You pop it on the tip of his peeper and you’re like why the F won’t this thing unroll? Unroll damn it! Forty seconds later, you figure it out. Awww shit, that sucker is upside down. Well, if that’s not a buzz kill, I don’t know what is. And once he’s “done” with the condom, it’s basically like a water balloon full of spluge that he tosses in the trashcan so the whole trashcan smells like sex. Awesome. Not.
Female condom
Do you know anyone who’s ever used this? Nahhh, me neither. So I looked it up and here are some of the advantages to using a female condom— it’s 95% effective (which basically means if you have sex 20 times, you’ll get preggers, at least according to my F’ed up math). It’s safe for anal sex (if you can handle the idea of putting a ring up your tush hole. I don’t know why that sounds worse than putting a penis in there, but it does). And the outer ring may possibly stimulate the clitoris while you’re having sex (so let me get this straight? Not only am I the one dealing with birth control, but now he doesn’t even have to work hard to get me off?). Okay, so those are the advantages to using this method of birth control.
The way I see it, here is the biggest disadvantage to using a female condom—you have to say you use a female condom. Blagggh. I guess you can say you use a Fem-Con and make it sound a little cooler like Comic-Con, but then people will just ask you what a Fem-Con is and you’ll have to whisper, “It’s a female condom,” and they’ll laugh and think you’re kidding, but then when they realize you’re not kidding they’ll stop laughing and look at you weird and think you’re gross. No way ho zay.
A Diaphragm
There are two reasons I am not wearing an F’ing diaphragm (shit, that’s a hard word to spell). 1. Aren’t diaphragms only for people who were born in the 1950’s? And 2. All I can picture is carrying the case around in my purse and then one day it falls out in front of the cashier at Tarjay and she sees it and she’s like, “Heyyyy, I wear a retainer too,” and I’m like, “It’s not a retainer, it’s a diaphragm.” And then it’s just a whole lotta awkward silence while she packs my bags.
Cervical Cap
Okay, I really didn’t know what this was so I looked it up and according to Planned Parenthood, “The cervical cap is a silicone cup shaped like a sailor’s hat.” Ennnnh, wrong, F that. I am NOT putting anything inside me that looks like a sailor’s hat. Hey look, it’s Fleet Week in my vajayjay! Then again, if I were single and living in New York, I would totally wear this for Fleet Week. Damn straight I support the Navy, check out my cervi cap!
The Sponge
Blaggggggghhh, I feel gross just typing that word. Do I seriously need my birth control named after a cleaning product? I clean enough shit around here already. Plus, what the hell is the point of using a birth control that is only 80% effective? I shit you not. Twenty out of 100 women get preggers on the sponge. It’s like Russian roulette in your hoo-ha. Only you don’t die if you lose. It’s worse. You have a crying, screaming, cockblocking, pooping baby.
So the other day my totally awesome husband sent me this text from work that said, “I love you.” Awwwww. So I started to text him back, “I love you too.” But adding the word “too” just kind of cheapened it in some way, like I wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t say it first, so I took off the word “too” and now it just said, “I love you,” but that didn’t seem like enough or something like I was just copying what he said, so I added an exclamation mark, “I love you!” But then it just sounded like I was yelling at him. And that’s when it occurred to me that he’s a guy and probably already forgot that he even sent me a text in the first place. Plus we’ve been married five years so finally I just texted back, “Can you pick up some milk on your way home?”
Sometimes I think living in hell would be better than the suburbs
Here are the thing
s I love about the burbs:
The storage space
My garage
And here are the things I HATE:
1. Before I got married and had kids and became a lamewad, I made fun of people who went to places like Applebees and Noodles and Company. My husband and I swore we’d never become THOSE people. Why the hell would you waste your money on crappy food in a shitty atmosphere being served by people who have to fake smile and pretend like they like you? And now I know. Kids. They change everything. But what sucks about the burbs is that we all go to these places alllll the time and over time our bar gets lower and lower and lower. So we say things like, “Have you been to that new Italian joint? It’s pretty good.” And what we mean is it’s not pretty good, but their highchairs have clips that work and the food isn’t poisonous and the employees aren’t going to stab you with eye daggers if your kid licks the tops of all the parmesan cheese shakers.
2. Ever drive by a suburban mall at eight in the morning and there are all these cars parked there and you’re like did the stores open early or something? Ennhh wrong. Just step inside and you’ll see who’s there. Walkers. Nooo, not like the awesome zombie walkers on The Walking Dead. These walkers are way lamer and wayyy scarier. It’s like the AARP organized a Flash Mob and convinced every old person in the area to meet at the mall to exercise. They strap on their whitest tennies, drop their coats in one of the “lounge” areas (aka places men wait and then fall asleep while their wives shop) and then they all walk. Around and around and around and around and around and around like F’ing gerbils on one of those wheel thingies. Hey, there’s that Coach bag I like. Hey, there’s that Coach bag I like again. Hey, and it comes in green too. Hey, there’s that Coach bag I want. And they know shit like “from Gymboree to The Gap” is an eighth of a mile.
I Heart My Little A-Holes Page 11